


Reflection

by HedonistInk



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Body Image, Gen, Insecurity, Introspection, Self-Acceptance, VoltronS2Countdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 14:34:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9276245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HedonistInk/pseuds/HedonistInk
Summary: Shiro knew how his prosthetic looked, what it felt like, how it responded to him. But seeing it from a distance, seeing it on his own body in the mirror… That was something else entirely. It was a shock, really. One he was more unprepared for than he expected.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So here's a piece I made for the voltrons2countdown on tumblr & twitter. Trying my hand at genfic for a change is pretty interesting. I kinda like it. This piece is pretty short and pretty introspective but I'm pleased with how it turned out. As always, comments & kudos are much appreciated. 
> 
> Season 2 hype: GET!! ((It looks so good, omg, I'm buzzing with hype.))

Standing in front of the mirror, Shiro couldn't help but stare, twisting this way and that, small, half-turns and twists of his limbs. He knew how the Galran prosthetic worked. He knew the searing pain that had taken over his body for days when whatever artificial nerve system it held had been hooked up to him. And he knew what it _looked_ like from looking at his own forearm.

But there was something _different_ about seeing himself in a mirror, stripped of his shirt. It was something about the distance, about seeing himself as a whole, about seeing how _other_ people would see it when they looked at him. He hadn't really had _access_ to a mirror when he was captive, nor would he have even thought to care to look, too focused on surviving to the next fight and the faint hope of escape. But now… standing in what had become 'his room' aboard the castle-ship, Shiro had more than enough time to assess himself. Unfortunately.

It looked… Really really bad. No... That wasn't even bad enough to describe it. 

It looked… _horrific._

Strange and foreign and dull yet still shining metal met abruptly with flesh at a series of gnarled scars on Shiro's arm, the smallest indent giving Shiro somewhere to shove the edges of his sleeve. It looked _unnatural._ Even the prosthetics he'd seen on older, disabled soldiers who had visited the Garrison had looked at least more like tools with their high-polished plastic. But the metal that made up the Galran prosthetic… It only looked like one thing: A weapon. And, he supposed, it was. It was a weapon. It was nothing more than a weapon that also happened to be useful for daily things like picking things up.

Well. He couldn't blame Lance for being so hesitant to touch it at first anymore.

He wouldn't want to touch it either.

Shiro didn't really even want to _use_ the thing, preferring to keep it down at his side or curled around his own midsection when it wasn't needed for combat. A weapon had no place in the peace and calm of a relaxed evening. He felt like he was walking around with a semi-automatic rifle strapped to his arm all the time, the risk of it going off and hurting one of the other Paladins too real to be ignored. He was dangerous.

Shiro's gaze travelled over to the myriad of scars marring his body, some faded more than others. The older scars were the worst, large and brutal, etched into his skin before he had developed the skills to protect himself as well as he could now, before he had been given the _tools_ to protect himself. The weapon strapped to his arm.

A knock at his door startled Shiro out of his silent self-loathing.

"I… it's open…" Shiro's words were absent, still lost in his reflection and not quite registering that his response meant someone coming in, someone _seeing_ him in his half-undressed state, someone seeing the marks, the scars.

At least, he didn't register it until Hunk's voice sounded out from behind him.

"Hey, Shiro."

Shiro spun on his heel immediately, yanking the shirt fisted in one hand up to hold in front of himself protectively.

Hunk's gaze flicked down reflexively for only a brief moment before he was continuing to speak. "Pidge has some movies stashed on that laptop. I'm… not sure what all is on there or who would even want to watch what but I've been sent to ask everyone to come to movie night. Thought we could all use the evening off too. And maybe watching Lance and Pidge argue over what to pick."

No disgust, no questions, no gawking at his arm, no staring at the scars on Shiro's body with pity. Just… an invitation to something _normal_ . Watching movies with friends. Acceptance. Hunk wasn't judging him for it. Hunk didn't… it didn't bother him.

Maybe… maybe Shiro was over-thinking things. Whatever else the arm was, it was a part of him now, and it was a part that the others had accepted. They trusted him. The least he could do was try to give them the same courtesy. Shiro allowed himself a slight hint of a smile, giving a firm nod.

"I'll be there in a minute."


End file.
